


your shadow crosses mine

by Muir_Wolf



Category: Sherlock (TV), The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Crossover, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-31
Updated: 2012-05-31
Packaged: 2017-11-06 09:22:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 742
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/417276
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Muir_Wolf/pseuds/Muir_Wolf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>pre-Coulson/Lestrade; set pre-Avengers, post-Reichenbach Falls.</p><p> </p><p>  <i>He begs a pint off the bartender, and then pulls out his phone, checking the three new text messages from Stark.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	your shadow crosses mine

  


Coulson slides onto the barstool, unbuttoning his suit jacket as he does. He begs a pint off the bartender, and then pulls out his phone, checking the three new text messages from Stark. He's not surprised that Stark found his phone number, but he is a little that the man thinks sending him text messages whenever he's bored is a good way of alleviating said boredom. Coulson puts his phone back in his pocket—he's done his best not to encourage Stark in any way, managing to keep a straight face even when Stark spent an entire meeting texting him more and more risque nicknames for Fury.

He grabs his pint gratefully from the bartender and downs almost half of it immediately, relishing in the taste of it on his tongue, and waits for the man next to him to say something. He doesn't disappoint.

“Long day?” the man asks. Coulson sets his pint back on the bar and glances over at him. Dark hair going silver and quite attractive, the man's lips are pinched and he's nursing his own beer as if he's trying to find answers at the bottom of it. Coulson tries on a wearied smile.

“Ever feel as if no matter how qualified you are, you spend most of your job babysitting geniuses that are old enough to know better?”

That piques the others' interest, and sure enough he turns toward him, his shoulder pulling back and his whole body more open to conversation. He rakes Coulson over thoughtfully, and a wry smile tugs at his lips.

“You've no idea,” he says. “Lestrade, by the way—call me Greg.”

“Phil,” Coulson offers. “Phil Coulson. Supposed to be here on vacation, but the office can't seem to function without me. I see they've driven you to drink as well?”

“I,” Lestrade starts, and then quiets almost immediately. Coulson can respect that, given that he has a file on Lestrade an inch thick in his office. It's good to know that Lestrade isn't prone to just chattering to anyone. “It looks like someone made a mistake at work,” he says. “Someone's going to end up taking the fall for it, and it's probably going to be me. So you know how it is, doing a bit of the old drowning my sorrows.”

Coulson smiles a little at that and takes another long draught of his pint.

“Think they actually screwed up?” he asks after a moment. Lestrade's eyes flick up, and Coulson shrugs easily. “You said it looks like they had. If you're taking the fall for it, figure you've given it some thought.”

Something like anger flickers across Lestrade's face, and then something else a little like sorrow.

“No,” he says. “I reckon he didn't.”

Coulson mentally checks off another little box— _loyal to the core_ —and rests his fingertips on the cool glass beneath his fingers.

“Well,” he says, “I wish you luck with that.” He glances over at Lestrade, and then pauses. Lestrade's eyes are unexpectedly on Coulson's lips, and an answering flush of warmth spills uninvited in his belly. Lestrade leans an elbow on the bar and rubs his hair distractedly.

“So why'd you choose to vacation in London?” he asks. Coulson takes a quick sip of his beer to avoid clearing his throat.

“I've always wanted to come out here,” he says. “It's a beautiful city.”

“Yes,” Lestrade says, his voice a little lower and a little warmer, his eyes lingering, “it really is.”

Coulson considers his options. This was supposed to be a simple assessment to see if Lestrade should be brought in for a full interview. Given the man's file, Coulson has had him earmarked for joining S.H.I.E.L.D. for a very long time, but until recently he'd been a more valuable asset where he was, and there'd been much less chance of convincing him to come aboard. 

Coulson's quite certain that Lestrade would be an excellent fit with the organization, but he's not currently an employee. There would be no breaking of fraternization rules. His report on DI Lestrade has already been quite thoroughly exhaustive, and Fury already knows his recommendation. And he is due an actual vacation. Even if he _is_ the only one capable of dealing with Stark.

And the “silver-fox” comments bandied around Lestrade's department are clearly not an exaggeration.

“Maybe,” Coulson says, mentally composing the text to Fury, “you could show me around?”

  
_finis_  


  



End file.
